


Domiciliary

by scrub456



Series: Inksolation [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Art and Fic, Caring Sherlock Holmes, Fanart, Influenza, Inksolation, M/M, Molly Hooper is a Good Friend, Quarantine, Sick John Watson, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: John is sick with the flu. Sherlock enlists Molly's socially distant help.An art and fic submission forInksolation Day 17and part two ofSICK
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Inksolation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706410
Comments: 20
Kudos: 83
Collections: Isolated Johnlock Collection, Quarantine





	Domiciliary

The sound of soft, comforting music woke him. Specifically, the gentle repetitive hum of a melody that seemed familiar, yet just out of reach. Which might have been fine if he didn't feel as if he'd not actually woken up so much as been jarred into the unpleasant realization that his body had committed the ultimate betrayal of forcefully rebelling against him.

He knew the fever still had him from the complicated sensation of both burning alive and freezing to death, as well as his skin feeling too confining despite the unsettling general disconnect between his brain and the rest of his bodily faculties. His head was pounding, ears ringing, and his eyes refused to open of their own volition because they were gummed up and burning as if he'd stared directly into the sun during a sandstorm. And dammit, every inch of his body _ached._

"Sherl-" John's voice was rough and broke before he could finish. He tried to gingerly clear his raw throat, resulting in a coughing fit that left him literally breathless. 

"Sherlock," he whispered as he tried to disentangle himself from the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped in.

"Oh, John! You're awake! Sherlock will be so relieved."

"Molly?" John rasped as he attempted to actually force his eyes to open. "S'not safe. Why're you…" He blinked through the haze of fever discoloring his vision and tried to focus on the dimly glowing laptop set up on a kitchen chair beside the bed.

Molly peered back at him from the screen, clad in a surgical gown and cap, a face mask and clear plastic face shield. He could tell from her movements she was trying to smile at him, though even in his addled state he could see she was beyond exhausted. 

"Sherlock wanted me to tell you, if you woke up, to use the inhaler on the side table. Take the paracetamol, and sip, don't chug, _sip,_ from the glass there. It's some concoction he's made, supposed to ease your throat and keep you hydrated, and…"

"Molly." John coughed and groaned.

"Sorry," she sighed. "He's so worried. And he promises the drink is safe. And…" John wasn't sure, but he thought perhaps Molly blushed under her protective gear. "And he wanted me to- to tell you he loves you," she giggled nervously, "if you woke up."

John pushed himself up onto one elbow, tried to dry swallow the tablets, and had to take a sip from the glass. It tasted like water, only slightly sweet, and didn't burn going down his throat, so he took one more sip.

"Molly, why?" He cleared his throat again, without the coughing fit, and took another sip before laying back down.

"Oh, uhm… I- I don't know… Because y- you take care of him. And, and you're kind and smart, and I mean, you _are_ , I mean, some people might say, well, a lot of them probably think you're handsome. And…"

"Molly, no…" John couldn't help chuckling, which led to another coughing fit. He took another drink and used the inhaler.

Molly stared back at him, wide eyed. Definitely blushing. 

"I know how he feels." John adjusted his pillows so he was a bit more elevated, and tugged the blankets back up around himself. "I meant why're you, uhm… here?"

"Oh!" She giggled nervously again. "Sherlock asked me to sit with you while he stepped out…"

"Out?" John groaned. If he were well he would have jumped up and dashed for the door. At the moment he barely had the energy required to flop his head back and close his eyes. "He can't…"

"John. Hey." Molly tried to calm him. The connection lagged a moment and her image skipped. "...rry, he didn't leave the flat. He said something about tidying up… I'm pretty sure I heard him hoovering earlier. He's been making soups."

"Soup?" John opened one eye and turned his head to look at Molly. 

" _'Soups,'_ plural," she corrected and attempted air quotation marks with her fingers, except both hands were gloved and covered in what John could only assume was blood, she had a scalpel in one hand and a mass of… something… in the other.

"Are you…"

"At work? Yeah." Molly sighed. "It's bad here, John. I've never…" She sniffed and bowed her head slightly.

"I know, Molly." John wanted nothing more than to hug her. "I know. A&E was terrible."

Molly nodded, sniffed again, and looked back up at him. "I was so scared when Sherlock said you were sick." She exhaled deeply. "The flu is bad, but I'm so… It's better…" 

"Yeah..." Shifting to try to ease his aching muscles caused another round of coughing, and the pounding in his head seemed concentrated behind his eyes. "How long have I…"

"You were displaying symptoms for three hours, at least that's what your medical file claims, before I retrieved you and brought you straight to bed fourteen hours ago. I can be more specific with minutes and seconds, if you'd like." Sherlock stepped around the kitchen chair, placed a steaming mug on the nightstand, and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

"Not even a full day?" With a groan, John tried to sit up, but Sherlock gently pushed him back down to the pillows and held the glass to his lips. "Christ, I feel terrible. Like I've been sick forever."

"Shush, John." Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to John's forehead. He frowned at the fact the fever was so high, and brushed John's hair back from his flushed face. "You've been a model patient thus far. No need to live up to the adage about doctors being the worst patients." He continued running his fingers through the sweat dampened hair.

"I was asleep." John closed his eyes and settled under Sherlock's gentle touch.

"See? Ideal." Sherlock smirked and brushed his lips lightly against John's brow again, and then his cheek.

"You'll get sick too." John would have pushed him away, but Sherlock's free hand was busy tucking the blankets more securely around him.

"I'm already exposed. If I display symptoms, we will deal with that when it happens. But for now, I will do whatever is needed to speed your recovery." Sherlock ran his fingers down John's jaw and brushed his thumb lightly across his cheek.

"You're ridiculous." John coughed again, and Sherlock offered him another drink.

"And you're essential." Sherlock murmured.

Molly cleared her throat. "Sorry to, uhm, ruin the moment, but…"

"Right," Sherlock turned from John and fumbled to grab the laptop. 

"Working." Molly shrugged and held up a different mass of something.

"Is that lung tissue? Do you think I could get…"

She shook her head. "No, Sherlock. Not… not this one. Not any. Not for a long time, I think." She sighed, and looked more exhausted than before.

"Right." Sherlock whispered. "You're right. Of course." They stared at each other, the truth of the current world situation weighing down oppressively on the moment.

"Molly." John shifted to see her better. "Be careful, yeah?"

"I will. I am."

"And you don't have to do… _this,_ " he sniffed and tipped his chin toward the laptop, "just because this one asks you to. You have too much…"

"John, I'm happy to. I can talk to my iPad screen while I work." Molly shrugged. "And you're my friend. I'd want to be there to help in person if I could."

"Thank you, Molly. Truly." Sherlock offered a small tentative smile.

"Besides, you two, after everything, give me hope. And if ever I needed hope..." She looked away, blinked rapidly a few times and looked back. If it were possible to make direct eye contact through technology, Molly did in that moment. "You take good care of him, Sherlock."

Sherlock glanced at John struggling to stay awake, and ran his hand through John's hair again. "Promise," he murmured before turning off the video connection.

"Will you have some broth now, John?" Sherlock placed the laptop aside and scooted a bit closer.

John let his eyes fall shut and shook his head with a groan. "Hmm, later? I just…"

"It's okay. Sleep now, John." Sherlock continued gently combing through John's hair. "I'll be here when you wake."

"Love you," John rasped.

Sherlock pressed one more kiss to John's brow and whispered his love against the precious, fevered skin.


End file.
